


Lobo in... Lobo

by BaronVonChop



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronVonChop/pseuds/BaronVonChop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lobo goes on an "allegorical" journey through his own body, confronting a different aspect of his personality at each body part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lobo in... Lobo

Some spaceport, some bar. The sole customer is a tall and muscular man, dressed in a leather jacket with its sleeves torn off to form a vest, blue jeans, and huge boots. He is a figure known throughout the galaxy as Lobo, the last Czarnian and an intergalactic bounty hunter. His long, wild hair is jet black, and his skin is white, except in sharp-pointed patches of black around his eyes and mouth. His eyes are blood red, though at the moment they are closed as he drains a mug of beer.

Lobo thumps down his empty mug on the counter and rubs froth from his bristly upper lip. “Urp! How ‘bout another one? I’m celebratin’ bringin’ in a nice, fat bounty!”

“Lobo!” a voice shouts from the entrance. “It is time to pay for thy crimes!”

The Czarnian turns. “Huh?”

A man stands in the entrance to the bar, dressed in a long black coat and wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a shiny buckle in the center. “That bounty thou just collected was a friend of mine. Thou art going to regret it, for thou now face: the Progressive Pilgrim!” The man pulls an elaborate firearm from under his coat. It is silver and black, and its whole length is covered with a complicated assortment of tubes, coils, and chambers.

Lobo smiles, showing long, sharp incisors. “Izzatafactnow? Well, yer welcome ta try. I’ll even give ya the first shot, but after I heal from that, it’s my turn. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

The man levels the barrel of his weapon at Lobo’s chest. “Thy healing powers will not help thee now, Lobo. I am about to send thee to the one place twisted enough to hold thee. Things are about to get gory.” His eyes narrow. “Allegory, that is. Allegorical. Alle… gory… cal. Thou wilt be trapped forever in thy own mind!”

He pulls the trigger and Lobo feels his body tense as though electrocuted. He bends back and back and feels himself stretching out. The last thing he sees is his own rear end coming up toward his face. “Aw, frag,” he mutters.

* * *

 

Lobo wakes in a low, dripping cave. He rubs his sore behind as he glares around. “Now what?” He straightens, but ends up bumping his head on the pink, surprisingly squishy ceiling. As he does, he feels a twinge in his rear.

“There’s no way...”

His nostrils flare, picking up an unpleasant but familiar smell. “Aw, ya gotta be kidding me!”

The floor is slimy and sloped, so he makes his way down. The stench gets worse as he goes, until he sees the way blocked ahead.

“Frag. I gotta eat eat more fiber. I guess I gotta find another way out.”

Lobo turns around and makes his way back up. The passage narrows and he goes down on his hands and knees. He climbs over and through as the passage loops over and back. He has to pause sometimes as he feels a cramping, squirming sensation in his guts. Finally, he emerges into a larger space.

All around the chamber stand refrigerators, ovens, and microwaves, stained and corroded by the damp air. Lobo ignores them and heads toward a stack of barrels against one wall.

“Booze! That’s more like it.” He places his mouth under the spigot of one barrel and turns it on.

A powerful gush of frothy yellow booze hits him in the face, nearly forcing him to the floor as it goes down his throat and up his nose. Lobo pulls back, coughing and sputtering, as the other taps all open by themselves and more streams of booze join the first.

Lobo sloshes back a few steps, shaking his shaggy black hair. The booze starts to fill up the chamber. “Too much of a good thing,” he mutters, then belches as his stomach gives a gurgle.

A crack appears in one of the barrels and booze sprays out. Then another barrel splits, then another, and by then the first barrel breaks clean in half, with booze pouring out in yellow wave. Lobo’s cry of “Frag!” ends in a bubbly burble as he finds himself submerged.

He kicks up, trying to reach the surface. When he surfaces, he finds that there is barely a foot of air between the booze and the ceiling, and that gap is closing fast. He looks around, but there is no escape route in sight.

Running out of time and with limited options, Lobo takes a deep breath, ducks under the booze again, and swims downward. His eyes glow in the murky yellow dimness. He spots a tunnel opening and he swims for it, but there are currents in the booze, and he fights to stay on course.

He gets close several times, only to be pulled away by a riptide. Finally, as he feels his chest burning from holding his breath, he manages to get a handhold on the soft floor. Ignoring the rumbling in his stomach, he pulls himself forward until he reaches the opening.

As soon as he sticks his head in the tunnel opening, a new current grabs hold of him, only this time it pulls him into the tunnel. His head emerges from the booze and he fills his lungs in a long, loud gasp. The current is spinning him around too much for him to see where he is going.

The tide starts to slacken and the level of the liquid drops until Lobo’s feet touch the ground. He spits up liquid, then tilts his head while hitting the opposite side of his head until booze comes out his ears.

Lobo leans against a squishy wall, feeling a tightness in his bladder. “Whew, I feel like I’m gonna burst. I don’t wanna know what weird paradox would happen if I took a leak in here.” He thinks for a moment. “Good thing I’ve got a portable dimensional storage sack.”

He takes out a small sack, unzips his trousers, and a short time later puts away the bag, which still looks empty, and he zips his trousers back up.

Lobo keeps walking until he emerges into another chamber. “Awright, where am I now?” He glances down and notices from the tightness of his trousers the state he’s in. “Down there, eh?”

As if to confirm his suspicion, up ahead a group of babes walks into view. They wear skimpy swimsuits or lingerie and each of them has a different skin color. They range in build from curvy to athletic, but they all have two things in common: their good looks, and their red eyes with the same black patches around them that Lobo has.

Lobo’s eyes grow wide as he drinks in the sight.

“Looks like things are lookin’ up! Haw haw!” He swaggers over to the first babe, a busty purple-skinned beauty in a green bikini. She blinks at him and he gives her a lascivious grin that could get him arrested in several systems (and, in fact, has).

Lobo points up ahead, where more babes emerge by the moment. “I figure there’s a way out up there,” says Lobo, “But I could stick around a bit.”

As other babes gather around him, the purple-haired one presses herself up against him, rising up on tiptoe to reach for a kiss.

“I can’t say no to that!” grins Lobo, and he stoops his head to kiss her. “MmmmmARGH!”

He pulls back his head, blood leaking from his lip as the babe gives a sharp-toothed smile. Lobo tries to back up, but there are babes all around him now. An orange babe in a negligee reaches down his trousers with a long-taloned hand. Lobo pulls back, but he bumps into a babe behind him. He spins around and finds himself nearly smothered in the enormous bosom of a towering babe.

Lobo ducks and crawled under the babe’s legs, then takes off running. “I like the rough stuff, but this is ridiculous!” He is narrowly able to avoid the babes’ clutching hands as he races back the way he came.

After another swim through the booze-flooded chamber, he finds a passage he had previously missed that leads up. As he climbs, he feels sharp chest pains that get worse as he goes.

By the time Lobo emerges in the next chamber, he is clutching his chest and feeling light-headed. He glances about warily, eyes narrowed, but he is in for a pleasant surprise. A pack of sleek space dolphins swim through the air toward him.

A genuine smile spreads over Lobo’s face, though his body sags with exhaustion and pain. “Hey… hey there, guys.” His voice is weak. “I’d love to stay an’ play with you, but I think I should be going…”

The nearest dolphins nuzzle him gently with their snouts while the others swim in a circle around him, clicking gently. Lobo runs his hand over the back of one of the dolphins, the fond smile on his face fading as his eyes start to close.

“I know you want to play, but you understand… this ain’t good for me… to be here.”

The world is going fuzzy. He struggles to stay on his feet and takes a few steps into the chamber. The dolphins draw in closer, nuzzling and snuggling and begging for rubs. One of them turns over playfully and Lobo can’t help but rub its stomach.

“Awright… well… maybe for a few minutes.” Even as he says those words, the world seems to recede from him, as though he is looking through a tunnel.

“Feetal’s gizz,” he mutters to himself, “this ain’t good.” He sinks to his knees. The dolphins swim above him and circle him tightly, their muscular bodies bumping against his.

A dolphin floats in front of Lobo’s face. His arm feels like lead as he lifts it to pat the dolphin’s head. “One… more… pet,” he mumbles, but his vision is blurring and the dolphin seems to move so he cannot manage to touch the it.

His vision swims, so he cannot see how cute the dolphin is. There is a roaring in his ears, drowning out the dolphins’ playful chirping and clicking. With the feeling quickly leaving his arms, the urge to pet the dolphins wanes.

The spell is broken.

Too bad he cannot take one more step.

Lobo grits his teeth. Well, maybe one step.

He pushes himself to his feet, only dimly aware of the dolphins bumping him as though inviting him to lay down and rest. He forces one foot forward, and though it is more of a shuffle than a step, it is progress, and somehow that gives him the strength to take another step.

Time stretches out as Lobo staggers across the chamber. It is only when the pain in his chest starts to recede that he notices that he has left the chamber and is in another corridor.

He collapses against a wall, gulping air, as his heart hammers in his chest. When he feels better, he gets up and shakes his head. “Never thought cuteness would almost take down the Main Man.” He continues down the passage, feeling the strength returning to his limbs.

At first, he thinks that his vision is starting to get hazy again. Then his sensitive nostrils pick up a familiar scent, and up ahead, he sees a sort of fog curling out of a chamber entrance.

The entire chamber is full of smoke, and Lobo waves a hand in front of his face to clear the air. He can dimly make out a red glow high above as more smoke pours down on him. “Nasty habit,” he chokes, before coughing smoke from his mouth and nose.

He pulls his vest up over his face but the taste of the smoke is in his mouth and he cannot seem to draw a breath. He puts his head down and rushes through the chamber as quickly as he can. When he reaches the other side, there is no way out. “Musta gotten turned around,” he wheezes.

Lobo turns and strikes off into the smoke again, but once again reaches a wall with no opening. His eyes are stinging and all he can manage are painful, shallow breaths. He sticks by the wall this time, looking for an exit. He squints into the smoke, trying to see through the shifting patterns.

Despite his vigilance, he almost goes past the exit before he notices it. It is above him, and for a moment he wonders how to get up there. With no other opportunity presenting itself, he takes a few steps back, gets a running start, and jumps, grabbing onto the damp wall of the chamber. When he does, he feels his chest spasm, and he starts coughing. The walls of the chamber convulse, knocking him loose and sending him to the ground.

He picks himself up, wishing he could take just one good breath to gather his strength. He backs up further this time, then takes another running start before launching himself up as high as he can. This time he grabs the wall nearly halfway to the opening, and when his chest spasms, he fights down the urge to cough. Instead, he holds his breath and climbs, pulling himself up to the opening and dragging himself through.

He crawls up the passage until the air clears. “Whew. All right. Nearly to the top.”

He hears the chamber above before he sees the entrance: a rising cacophony of booms, bangs, and screams. The space he emerges into is the largest yet, brightly lit and so tall that he almost cannot see the ceiling high above. The whole chamber is crammed with beings, a chaotic melee of thrashing limbs and flailing weapons. Gunshots and explosions fill the room, sending geysers of blood and dismembered limbs into the air. In moments, Lobo has a splitting headache.

He covers his face with one hand. “Keep it down, will ya?”

A nearby combatant peels away from the melee and runs at Lobo, his heavy machine gun blazing as the tracers track toward Lobo. Lobo recognizes the man’s wild black mane, pale skin, and red eyes, and a quick glance around confirms that every combatant looks just like Lobo. Lobo takes a step forward and clobbers the lookalike, sending him flying upside-down back into the fight. The punch causes the man to drop his gun, so Lobo picks it up and fires into the crowd. “Knock it off, ya bastiches!”

It does little good: in all the confusion, one more firing gun goes unnoticed. The only difference is that now Lobo’s headache is worse than ever.

In his frustration, Lobo charges into the crowd, sending a wave of Lobo lookalikes pinwheeling into the air from the point of impact. Lobo throws punches in every direction, but he cannot clear a space for himself, and soon he is turned around and lost in the press of bodies.

Bullets, fists, and even flying body parts hammer into him, but there is no rhyme or reason to the fight. Lobo aims a punch at a combatant who just shot him, but the man is cut down by another combatant, and Lobo’s punch connects with the other man instead.

The fight is pointless and mindless and it seems like it will go on forever.

Lobo could almost enjoy it, if it weren’t for his worsening headache.

Fighting is doing no good, so he drops his gun and falls to his knees. “I’ve had enough of all this. What’s the point o’ booze and babes and the rest if you can’t properly enjoy ‘em? You even took the fun out of fightin’, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

The fighters around Lobo stop fighting each other and look at at Lobo.

Lobo glares at them. “I can tell I won’t be gettin’ out through here, either. So you want me to go back? To do it all again? Guess again, dweebs. The Main Man’s not gonna let you yank his chain any more.”

The Lobo lookalikes level their guns at Lobo’s head. There are so many pressed around Lobo that some of them have to content themselves with aiming at his torso instead.

“So I like babes an’ booze. So what? I smoke stogies and enjoy a good fight. Am I supposed to feel bad about it? Am I supposed to apologize for my wicked ways, or just suffer for them? Frag that. That ain’t my style.”

There is a clamor of hammers being cocked and shotguns being pumped. Lobo snorts. “Yeah, yeah. I ain’t got all day.”

There is a thunder of gunshots and the back of Lobo’s head explodes. Blood, chunks of skull, and brains go flying out, and among them is the figure of Lobo, who lands hard on the floor of the bar.

The Progressive Pilgrim stares at Lobo in shock. “It didn’t work!”

Lobo grabs a stool and uses it to hoist himself up. There is no sign of blood or brains now, only one pissed-off Czarnian. “Yeah, there was one problem with your weapon there, Clyde. It’s meant to teach its victim a lesson, and I ain’t never gonna learn.”

The Pilgrim drops his weapon. “Art thou… art thou going to kill me?”

Lobo grins, then sticks out his blood-red tongue so that it almost reaches his chin. “Nah. There’s only one thing to do with a turd like you: flush ‘im.” And with that, he takes out the portable dimensional storage sack from his vest, points it at the Pilgrim, and opens it. Immediately a huge gush of yellow liquid surges out, knocking the Pilgrim off his feet and sweeping him out the door.

Once the deluge has ended, Lobo tosses the dripping sack aside. “Hope you remembered to close your mouth and hold your breath! Hyuk hyuk!”

He turns around and plops onto the barstool and glances over the bar at the bartender, who is cowering on the ground.

“So, where’s that beer I asked for?”


End file.
